


T(r)ied and True

by starscrearn



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: (for fulcrum and the ropes at least), Blow Jobs, First Time, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 22:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15447120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscrearn/pseuds/starscrearn
Summary: Misfire has a slightly unusual request. Fulcrum does his best to oblige.





	T(r)ied and True

**Author's Note:**

> a request for [Cranky_Tanky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cranky_Tanky/pseuds/Cranky_Tanky)! had a lot of fun with this, there may be a part 2 sometime

“Y’know, when that Delorian said xe was gonna tie us all up and you said ‘oh Primus please,’ I really didn’t think you were serious,” Fulcrum remarked.

“Well, I wasn’t serious  _ then,” _ Misfire replied, rolling his optics like it was more obvious than the fact that he’d swiped Krok’s engex again. “But I’m serious now.”

“So you-- you really want me to just. Tie you up?”

“Mm-hmm.” Misfire wriggled happily, finally discarding his empty can of engex. “I mean, if  _ you _ want to. You uh, would you be up for it?”

“I mean…” He shrugged. “Yeah, why not. Was there something wrong with what we’ve been doing?”

“No, no, Primus no! Just wanted to, y’know, change it up a little. And you look like you’d be good at it. You’ve got that, y’know.” The jet gestured in the general direction of his own face.

“Please don’t say ‘chin.’”

“I mean, that too. No, I meant you’ve got that voice. S’really good.” He grinned. “You sound like you’re good at control. But not in a, in a Megs-y way, you know? Just in a good way.”

Fulcrum scratched at his elbow. The paint there was threatening to flake again; it wasn’t really concerning, just a sign of the cheap primer they’d picked up. “Uh. Thanks? I think.”

“Wait, you’ve never done this?”

“Should I have?”

“No, I just-- well, I thought with the  _ voice _ you get, you had some experience.” Misfire rubbed the back of his neck. “Awkward.”

“Hey.” He stretched out a foot and tapped it gently against the taller mech’s ankle. “I’m still up for it. You might have to just… walk me through some of it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “If it’s something you’re into it, I… at least want to try it. ‘Specially if you think I’d be good at it.”

_ “Oh, _ yeah. Definitely. I don’t think you know it, but you do this, like… thing? Where your voice goes all deep and even and it’s just. Mm.” Misfire grinned. “I mean, I’m gonna have to teach you a few knots, but that won’t take long.”

He wriggled again and Fulcrum tipped his helm awkwardly. “You’re… eager.”

“You would be too if you’d been thinking about this as long as I have!”

“Okay, okay. One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“So… what do you get out of it?”

Misfire scooted over and slipped an arm around Fulcrum’s rounded shoulders. “It’s about  _ trust. _ No, seriously. Think about it. I’m gonna be pretty much at your mercy. So I trust you enough to not do anything nasty, and… well, I trust you enough to tell you in the first place. S’been hard to find with-- well, it’s been a while.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, staring at his hands. After a moment his helm popped back up and he grinned lopsidedly at Fulcrum. “ ‘Sides, it just feels good. Ever had a knot tied up against your node? Mm.”

“So it’s not about not being able to move?”

“Nah, not for me. So.” He snuggled in and immediately made a face as another thought occurred to him. “Oh, wait, you know safewords?”

Fulcrum nodded.

“Cool. Mine’s Krok.”

_ “Krok _ is your safeword?”

Misfire snickered. “Yeah, he’s a real mood-killer. Nah, I’m kidding, that’s not the point of having one. Safeword’s really Pretendia. So. Can we get started?”

“Tell me what to do.”

The jet scrunched his nose. “No, that’s  _ your _ job.”

Fulcrum swatted at his shoulder and he squawked, but he looked quite pleased. “Not  _ yet _ it isn’t,” the tan mech muttered.

“Okay, so do you know  _ anything _ about knot-tying?”

“I, uh.” He shrugged. “No, not really. It’s not exactly my area of expertise.”

“That’s fine, we’ll start simple.” Misfire hopped up, all energy, and yanked a box out from under his berth to shove it at the former techie. “Open that?”

“Say please.”

He whined, wings quivering. “I thought you said we hadn’t started!”

“I’m just teasing.” Then he paused. “So, that works for you, huh?”

“Nuh-uh.” Misfire side-eyed him. “Maybe. Just a little bit.”

Fulcrum didn’t really do smirking, but for a second it looked like he was trying. He popped open the box and pulled out one of the ties. “These look new.”

“They are. I, uh. Picked them up on our last stop.”

“Was that why Krok was hassling you for being late?”

The pink mech grinned sheepishly.

He turned his hand over and let the silky material flow through his fingers. “Aqua?”

“It was all they had!”

“Hm. Come here?”

The jet turned so quickly something popped and stumbled back to Fulcrum, who held the cloth up against his chestplates. “I don’t know, I think it looks pretty good. Nice contrast.”

“You a, uh.” Misfire swallowed and reset his vocalizer. “Decorator now?”

“I think I’m about to be, if you’ll tell me how to tie this.”

He immediately plucked it out of the shorter mech’s hands. “Okay, so watch me closely. I’m no good at explaining it, but I can show you.”

It took them a little while of wrangling, but eventually they were both satisfied that Fulcrum could tie a serviceable knot that, while not the prettiest thing in the ‘verse, would keep the jet’s limbs adequately pinned.

“So…” Misfire shifted. “Can we start?”

“What’s your safeword?”

“Pretendia.”

“Then yes, we can start. On your knees, please. On the bed?”

“Awww, c’mooon,” he whined. “That’s no good. You’re too nice about it.”

Fulcrum tipped his helm, gently twisting the tie between his fingers. “I thought I asked you to get on the bed.”

A shudder raced over his frame, loudly rattling his wings. Misfire all but threw himself onto the berth, rucking up the covers, and sank onto his knees. “Like this?”

“Just like that.” Fulcrum leaned forward and ran a hand down his side, over his hip, and down along his thigh. “Knees apart. Wide as they’ll go, please.”

His knees sprang apart so quickly something audibly twinged, and Fulcrum flicked one of the now exposed cables, prompting a whine. “Not so fast! Don’t injure yourself.”

“Mm-hmn.” Misfire flicked his glossa over his lip. “So, uh… what are you gonna do?”

“Well… I think I’m going to tie your ankles, for a start. Then I’m going to run the cord over your thighs so you can’t squirm away. Then I think I might tie your arms behind your back. Not too tight, just so you can’t grab me. And then…” Fulcrum very definitely smirked that time. “Then I’m going to suck your spark out through your spike. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds like if you don’t start right now I’m gonna overload in my panels,” he rushed out.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Fulcrum muttered. “Lift up for me? I need your ankles.”

The jet rocked himself forward and dropped onto his hands and knees. The tan mech scooted behind him and began threading the ties around his ankles. He stopped to wiggle a finger under the first tie and tugged lightly. “Is that too tight?”

“Mm-mm. Too loose.”

He pulled it tighter. “Better?”

“Now I can’t feel my foot.”

Fulcrum hastily undid the knot and tried again. “What about now?”

“Still loose, but it’s okay. Can I get off my knees yet?”

He leaned forward and swatted at the jet’s hip, prompting a little yelp. “Not until I tie the other one.”

“Okay, okay…”

Fulcrum sat back and slipped a hand up between Misfire’s thighs, tracing over the seams in his modesty plating. “Huh, no wonder you’re impatient.”

Immediately Misfire shoved his hips back, pressing his covered array into his hand with a whine. 

The shorter mech pushed back. “No, not yet. You’ll get it soon enough. Right now I need you to hold still, or I’ll never get these tied.”

“Hurry  _ up.” _

“This is my first time doing this,” he admonished. “Be patient. And get your aft out of my face! Your plating keeps hitting me in the nose.”

Misfire continued his quiet grumbling, but he pushed himself forward enough that Fulcrum could actually get to his ankles again. He tied the other, checked it, and tied it again before they were both satisfied.

Fulcrum reached forward and hooked his fingers into the back of Misfire’s collar fairing, gently tugging him back until he was leaning up against his chest. The jet was taller, and the way he was sitting only added to it, but Fulcrum managed to hook his chin over his shoulder anyway and slipped an arm around his waist, reaching down to seek out sensitive transformation seams. Misfire whined and shoved his array closer.

“If you don’t hold still, I’ll stop,” he muttered, folding his other arm over the jet’s chestplates to keep him in place.

Misfire froze, though his thighs trembled with the effort. “Where-- where do you want my hands?”

“On your thighs, I think.”

They sprang into place. “I thought-- you said you were going to tie them?”

Fulcrum glanced up from Misfire’s throat in time to find the jet desperately trying to catch his eye. “We’ll get to that. Unless you want me to stop.”

As he spoke, his fingers slipped into the gaps of his plating, gently tugging at the edges of his modesty panels. Already he could feel lubricant threatening to spill out, and a bead of it ran over his fingertips when Misfire shifted again.

“Nuh… never mind. Keep going.”

“Keep this closed--” Fulcrum tapped at his covered array. “And try not to overload, okay?”

“Okay, but you’re gonna have to give me something in a minute here--”

“I know.” He smirked against the side of his throat. “I will.”

“Oh sweet-- oh Primus, that’s it. That’s the--!” His voice hiked up as the mech brushed back over his panels. “The  _ thing _ you do…”

“Describe it?”

“You get all quiet and your voice gets deeper and honestly I thought it was a mod the first time you did it but now I think you just  _ do _ it--” A moan interrupted him. “And this has nothing to do with it but I can feel your sparkbeat against my back and if you don’t let me open my panels I swear to Primus I’m going to make a mess.”

“No you’re not,” Fulcrum replied, and pulled away. Misfire tried to follow him back and nearly fell over.

He whined. “C’mon, Fulcrum, please--”

“No. Not yet.” He traced a hand up Misfire’s thigh. “Haven’t even finished tying you and you’re almost to overload?”

“You cheated,” he muttered, jiggling his knee like he was trying to shake Fulcrum’s hand off and back to his array.

He did pull his hand away, but not back to his array. Instead, he took the ends of the cord and began to wind them around Misfire’s thigh.

“And this doesn’t hurt?”

“Nope,” he assured him. “I’ll need to move again eventually, but for now I’m good.” He paused. “Can I open--”

“Not yet.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!” Misfire squawked.

“Were you going to ask if you could open your panels?”

The jet bit his lip and glanced away. “Maybe.”

“The answer’s still no. I’ll tell you when you can open it.”

“Is it going to be soon?”

“Not if you keep asking me!”

“Okay, okay…”

Fulcrum reached for the other tie, paused, and sighed, dropping his helm against Misfire’s shoulder.

“Fulcrum?” The jet poked him. “What is it?”

“I should have tied you to a chair.”

“Okay, even in this situation, that’s a little weird to hear.”

“I’m just thinking-- it’s going to be a little hard to reach.” Fulcrum glanced up at him. “Can I drag you to the edge of the berth?”

“Yeah, chair would have been better. Next time.” He grinned. “Move so I can scoot? And you’d better make it up to me for all this waiting.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

Misfire shoved himself forward, pausing when his knee poked out over the edge. “That’s about as far as I can go. Does that work?”

“It should…” Fulcrum dropped down and leaned forward, pressing the jet’s thighs apart. “I can reach from here.”

“So… while you’re down there…”

“Answer’s still no.”

The look in his optics when he glanced up made Misfire shiver. “I’m… gonna regret asking, aren’t I.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Probably.” He leaned in and flicked his glossa over Misfire’s covered array, tracing over the seams as the jet squirmed above him. 

He yelped as Fulcrum brushed against the edge of his panel and instinctively tried to clamp his thighs shut to keep him there. The short mech’s hands shot up, faster than Misfire would have thought possible, to press against his knees, holding him wide open. 

“Hands on mine,” Fulcrum murmured. The vibrations went straight through Misfire’s plating, and if his spike hadn’t been pressing against its cover before he spoke, it certainly was now. His hands settled into their assigned place.

“Fulcrum, please, you gotta-- you gotta give me  _ something--” _

“I will,” he promised. “Just not yet.”

He went back to pressing kisses against his plating, kisses that got sloppier the warmer Misfire’s panels grew. When the jet was firmly convinced he could take no more, Fulcrum pulled back, leaving behind a mess of lubricant and oral solvent.

“And look at that,” he murmured appreciatively. “Still closed.”

At that, the jet’s panels popped open, releasing the trapped lubricant. It glistened against the berth covers as it slowly began to seep in. At the same time, his spike cover retracted and his partially pressurized spike emerged, tensors along the base visibly beginning to contract. Fulcrum glanced from the spill up at Misfire, whose hands shot up to his shoulders in the universal gesture for “not my fault.”

“It wasn’t an overload!”

“No, but I told you to keep you your panels closed.”

“Hey, I  _ tried,” _ Misfire protested. “You took too long.”

“We can work on that, if you want to do this again,” he offered.

He grinned impudently. “Right now I just kinda want you to spike me, but yeah, sure.”

“We’ll get to that. Unless you  _ don’t _ want me to suck your spike like I promised I would.” Fulcrum pushed himself up and finally tied the jet’s other leg. “How’s that feeling? Nothing’s sore yet?”

“No, still good. You gonna tie my arms too or do I get to pull you towards me?”

“I haven’t forgotten about that.” He crawled back up onto the berth, deliberately pressing his knee against Misfire’s array as he pulled himself up. The jet whimpered, attempting to grind against it.

“Try not to overload,” Fulcrum remarked as he shifted back, ignoring the lubricant now clinging to him. “Hands behind your back, please, and grab your elbows.”

“You’re not very good at this whole dirty talking thing, are you?” Misfire teased. He swung his arms behind his back so that his forearms laid against each other, forming a rough square.

He shrugged and began to wrap the cord around the jet’s arms. “But you knew what I wanted. How does that feel? Not too tight?”

“I dunno, feels kinda lonely…” When Fulcrum gave him an odd look, he grinned. “Ohhhh, you mean the  _ tie? _ I was talking about my valve. Cord’s fine.”

“Alright you.” He slipped back off the berth and knelt on the floor in front of the pink mech. “Hmm, you’re so cheeky now, I’m not sure…”

“C’mon…” The jet wriggled his hips enticingly. “You know you love it.”

He rolled his optics and lowered his helm.  _ “Don’t _ overload.”

Misfire felt a glossa against the underside of his spike. Like it had been a signal, his spike was fully pressurized a moment later and nudging at the back of the mech’s intake. His response was lost to a throaty moan. Fulcrum hummed around him, sounding amused.

He vented heavily and tried again. “Not fair.”

The shorter mech pulled back and wrapped a hand around him when Misfire opened his mouth to complain. “I thought this is what you wanted!”

“Doesn’t make it fair!”

“So what would?”

“Letting me overload,” the jet muttered.

He gave him a light squeeze, just enough to briefly disrupt the fluid in his lines. “Not yet. So stop asking.”

He dipped his helm again, pulling Misfire back into his mouth. The jet whined; taking it as his cue to keep moving, Fulcrum began to bob his head, taking the spike a little deeper with each burst until it nudged against the back of his intake again. He swallowed, letting it press past his secondary intake covers.

Above him, Misfire made a strangled noise and hunched forward as a shudder seized his struts. They could both hear the ties creaking as the jet strained against them, instinctively trying to grab for the mech’s helm.

Fulcrum eased up and slipped his glossa down the underside of the spike before slowly dragging it back up to catch on sensory ridges. Misfire  _ wailed.  _ There was a soft click as another panel snapped open; as Fulcrum lifted his helm up and wrapped one hand around the base of the jet’s spike, his other darted between his legs to tend to his own primed valve. His fingers swiftly found their way inside as he moaned around the spike still in his mouth.

His flicked his glossa lightly against the flared head as he pressed against the larger nodes that ringed the base of Misfire’s spike. As he traced over the jet’s slit, the mech above him frantically searched for control of his vocalizer.

“I know you said not to, but I’m so close, Fulcrum, I don’t think I can--”

He pulled back to issue a warning, but he had no sooner opened his mouth than Misfire finally overloaded, streaking his face and chest with transfluid. He sagged back in the restraints, venting harshly as the charge flickered away. 

After a long moment, Misfire glanced down between his legs to Fulcrum, who was scrubbing frantically at his face. The jet couldn’t quite keep a giggle out of his voice. “I, uh, I did try to warn you.”

Fulcrum glared as best he could with watery optics. “It’s in my  _ eyes,  _ Misfire!”

“Well--” Now he was grinning openly. “You have goggles, why didn’t you wear them?”

“I didn’t think I’d need them for interfacing!”

Misfire shifted. “Then I’d say we both learned something.”

Fulcrum gave up on trying to rub away the spill. “Oh, yeah? What’d you learn?”

“That my foot’s falling asleep.”


End file.
